Actions speak louder
by ekc293
Summary: "If there was one thing Jim Beckett hated more than foul weather on a camping trip, it was his phone." A post-ep for Still. Spoiler warning.


This is a post-ep for "Still".

Jenny demanded it.

And we all know that I am powerless to resist Jim Beckett fic.

* * *

If there was one thing Jim Beckett couldn't stand more than foul weather on a fishing trip, it was his phone.

It was supposed to be a nice weekend, a beautiful weekend, with a warm sun and cool water and not a cloud in the sky in Northern New York and he had 4 days off. But instead it rained, washing away the sunshine, muddying up the water until he couldn't see his hook as it dipped just below the surface. And now it was getting dark and he'd been trying to salvage the day for hours and he couldn't help but feel frustrated.

And it didn't help that this entire weekend, he'd been having trouble with his phone. He assumed it was probably the storm – his signal was never great up north but he had zero bars all weekend and that was unusual. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and out of the ziplock bag he had it safely tucked inside from underneath the porch of the cabin he'd rented from a friend of his for his vacation, and thought briefly about chucking it into the nearest river until he noticed the little bars on the front screen, low but still there.

He flipped open his phone, nothing fancy like the ones everyone else seemed to have these days, noticing the red dot that told him he missed a call. He barely moved as he thumbed his fingers over the round button on top of his keypad, opening his recent calls list and seeing that he'd missed one from Katie. He considered calling her back but instead decided to check his voicemail seeing as she usually was good about leaving him messages when she wanted to talk. He stood completely still, holding his breath as he slowly moved the phone closer to his ear so he could listen to the voicemail, praying that he wouldn't drop the signal.

He paused for a moment before he rolled his eyes at himself. He was being ridiculous.

Moving wasn't going to kill him.

… But better safe than sorry.

His thumb held down the number one, waiting until the screen told him that he was dialing his voicemail before he lifted the phone to his face. He smiled as he heard his daughter's voice begin to trip into his ear.

"Hey dad, it's me. I just wanted to hear your voice. And I want to tell you that I love you… Okay, that's all. Bye."

Jim felt time stand still, the world slowing down around him as his phone prompted him to replay the message but he didn't, he couldn't. He was frozen, his mind racing a mile a minute because this wasn't right.

Something wasn't right.

He knew his daughter, he knew his daughter and this wasn't right.

His vision tunneled, the world spinning down to the phone in his hands and the words he just heard because _no_.

He knows his daughter because his daughter is too much like him. They don't always say what they feel but they let actions do the talking for them. She doesn't just call to say she loves him. And he _knows _she does and that's more than enough for both of them and his daughter doesn't do anything without appropriating a reason for it.

_Bye._

Without thinking he pressed seven, saved the message before he had time to think about what the implications were of saving a message when it sounded like his daughter was saying _goodbye _to him and it couldn't be real.

His fingers fumbled as he dialed her number, had to start over twice because he couldn't stay still, another time because he lost his signal before he desperately found it again. He pressed the call button, lifted it up to his ear and brought a hand to his forehead, running through his hair as he tried to breathe evenly.

She was fine. She was going to be fine. She had to be fine. He didn't know when she'd called him. She could be absolutely –

"Dad?"

"Katie," he breathed out, relief seeping out his words through his phone, "Are you alright?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, a pause he knew because it always preceded a story he wasn't sure he could handle hearing – when she shot Johanna's killer, when her Captain died before she was shot – and she breathed out on the other line.

"I'm alright, Dad."

He didn't believe her. He didn't believe her and she knew it but he'd let it slide because she was _talking_ to him, and her message made it seem like those were the last words he'd ever hear her say.

"You sure, Katie? I mean… You… You scared me," he said, trying to keep his tone even, "I'm too old for that much excitement."

His daughter chuckled on the other end.

"You? Old? Never."

He laughed at the sarcasm in her voice.

"Hey, young lady. I'm still here. That's what matters."

A silence settled over the line and Jim was having a hard time figuring out if the sound he was hearing was the rain on the roof above him or the static from over the phone.

He heard the call cut out for a moment before he heard her talk again.

"Yeah," she murmured softly, "that's all that matters."

"You sure you're alright, Katie?" he asked quietly after a moment.

"Yeah," she said immediately, "I'm fine. It was… But I'm fine now. I promise, Dad. I'm with Castle. He's making me dinner. It was just a… a long day."

He nodded, though she couldn't see it, looking up at the roof over his head.

He doesn't need to know the details.

"I'll be home in a few days," he said, "Maybe we can go for lunch?"

"I'd like that," she answered, "Our diner?"

He scoffed, "Is there any other place better to eat?"

She laughed, "No, I guess there isn't."

"That settles it then, I'll call you when I get back to the city."

"Sounds perfect, Dad."

There was another brief silence over the line before he spoke again, his voice lower, softer.

"I love you, Katie."

"I love you, too, Dad."

He smiled, he always does whenever she says it because he's done a lot of stupid things in his life and there are so many reasons that she _should _hate him but she still loves him. She loves him like she did when she was his little girl and she refused to sleep with a nightlight.

She's still his little girl.

"I'll let you go," he said, "Have a nice dinner."

"Thanks, Dad," she answered, "I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye, Katie."

"Bye, Dad."

He heard her click off on the other end of the line, and he felt the tension creep out of his bones, his lungs emptying themselves of air until all that's left in the empty spaces was the airless weight of relief.

She was fine. She was alright.

He closed the phone, noticing that his bars had immediately disappeared once again.

He rolled his eyes, shoving his phone back into his pocket before he took off his waders and went inside the cabin.

Maybe it was time to get a new phone after all.


End file.
